NYC gets #IcyandSot

I first photographed Icy and Sot in Amsterdam, both on the street at at one of their gallery shows. They’ve become street art darlings since then, with major turns at Norway’s NuArt fest in Stavanger, and also, it seems, New York City. I literally couldn’t walk through a single borough without running into their work. Most of these were in conjunction with the Bushwick Collective, but also, they were part of the Welling Court Project. Even still, some of it just seemed to be good, ol’ fashioned illegal graff. Good on ’em.

This delightful mural in South Williamsburg just went on and on….

… and on….

This massive, colourful explosion in Bushwick seems to depict suicide bombers in Iraq, but it could also be the way protesters are gunned down in Gaza. Or perhaps it’s Tel Aviv. Syria? Tahrir Square? I’m not really sure, but then again, the goal isn’t to precisely identify what the artist is trying to say. The point is to make it mean something to you.

I love how his arm reaches up and hangs off of the barbed wire on the roof.

Apologies for not getting a close-up of his hand. I should point out that I took these photographs the first week of January when it was about -20 degrees and removing my hands from my mitts to take photos was a race against frost bite. I could only take maybe two or three pictures before my hands would sting and splinter and redden and become numb. Graff hunting in winter is so much different than in summer. Le sigh.

Their famous portrait here in blue was a massive mural up in Queens, as part of the Welling Court project.

I love this cop and his shadow mural off of Meserole in Bushwick. It must have been erected during the Black Lives Matter protests, as it seems to be a direct comment on Police Brutality, and appearance vs reality when it comes to New York cops.

Freaky.

You know what’s funny of this walking boy of theirs? If you go on Instagram, everyone thinks this is Banksy.

Christine Estima

Christine Estima

As a half-Portuguese, half-Lebanese, feminist, novelist, hipster, atheist, charlatan, blogger, backpacker, playwright, bookworm, film critic, bon vivant and lovertine, I began my journey of petulance and precociousness in the suburbs of Montreal and Toronto. I thusly figured I'd turn out to be a nun, or a writer. A few years at a Catholic school cured me of the first disease.

I cannot wear white without spilling something on it, but you'll still find me, most likely, in the fridge at 4am.

I mean well.

Want to know more about me? You can find my bio, writing portfolio, and media coverage at ChristineEstima.com